


Got Wood?

by hweianime



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, It's an AU about trees, That's right, Trees, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 12:51:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13998723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hweianime/pseuds/hweianime
Summary: It starts out with Harry making his first friend when he was five.





	Got Wood?

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was just something that came into my mind two days ago and I HAD to write it quickly before the urged faded. I'm planning a second chapter but I probably won't make it a long-term series. I suggest subscribing anyway if you feel optimistic about the plot idea tho haha.

Harry met his first friend when he was five. Dudley and his friends had started a new game called Wolf Pack where they were the wolves and Harry was the bunny. Later this game would be known as Harry Hunting, but that’s neither here nor there. The point was Harry had been saved by his friend, hiding from his cousin behind his friend’s tall, intimidating stature.

 

Dudley looked around for a bit with his friends, howling and generally acting like Aunt Marge’s horrible dog Ripper but quickly they grew bored with no prey and left. Once sure he was in the clear, Harry came out of his hiding place tentatively.

 

Shyly, he patted his friend and gave a relieved smile. “Thanks,” Harry tells his friend sincerely before he runs off. After all, Aunt Petunia would be awful mad if he hadn’t finished pruning the weeds before she came back.

 

The tree just stood there, as trees always did.

 

* * *

 

Harry kept visiting the tree. It was close to his house, just a street away, and the park it lives in wasn’t exactly a very popular park. Even if it was, the tree stayed in a deeper part of the forest around the area anyway.

 

Harry loved the tree.

 

The tree kept Harry company, it gave him shade on hot days and stopped him getting too wet on rainy days. The late Summer and Fall were Harry’s favorite times when the need for food wasn’t so dire thanks to his friend who dropped sweet fruit every time his tummy grumbled. They were always delicious.

 

The tree is something, someone the boy always feels grateful for. He talks to the tree. Complains, cries, laughs. He learns how to climb. How to balance, how to have the courage to jump from one branch to the next and how to be as quiet as its rustling leaves.

 

Whenever the boy would leave the tree would watch him go. Sometimes it would rustle its leaves. Sometimes it would wave its branches. But the tree would always wait for Harry. Not because it’s what trees always do.

 

But because it’s what the tiny child needed.

 

* * *

 

Harry goes to the library to read about his tree. A pear tree. So the green fruits are pears. Harry decides he loves pears. And he learns about other trees too. It’s exciting, like getting to know new friends without meeting them yet. 

 

There are oak trees littered around the park, two maple trees, an old apple tree in the very deepest part and a smattering of pine. Whenever Harry passes one he greets them with a smile, and he imagines that the rustle of the tree is their own quiet way of saying hello back.  

 

Sometimes Harry thinks maybe having only the trees as his friends is rather sad. Though it’s not like he’s had many options. He tells the pear tree this. “I don’t mean that I wouldn’t be friends with you if I had a choice!” He hurries to explain before sighing, his small body slumped against the comfortingly solid trunk. “I just, I wish,” Harry struggles to word it, fortunately, his oldest friend knows what he means.

 

The pear tree feels sad, for the tree can give many things but companionship and conversation were not one of them, try as it may be. When the boy walks away, back to his own people forest filled with awful weeds that dampen his growth, the pear tree converses with the other trees.

 

The other trees similarly feel concern for the small human. The tiny greenhouse the boy resides in houses the fat men and the shrill female. It is obvious that they aren’t sharing nutrients with Harry. But they too cannot offer what Harry needed. Maybe one day, when he is older and wise enough to listen to the trees properly. 

 

Not that he isn’t already quite good at picking up their moods now. But he is barely a sprout and has already been hindered by his human ears that pick up everything and nothing at all. 

 

It is the old apple tree that finds a solution. For recently a serpent has made its way into its branches for sunbathing. The old apple tree has been there for a long while, and it’s untamed long branches are something many are jealous of. 

 

The serpent will not be as flighty as the sparrows they house, who while kind to the boy do not have much concentration to spare for him, too busy being feathery and hungry. The serpent will be smarter than the squirrels who only think of nuts and more loyal than the magpies who only stay for food and glitter. The serpent will be durable too, not as good as a fellow tree certainly but much better than a spider. 

 

Unfortunately, the trees were not hugely informed about serpents, despite their age and natural wisdom. And they soon realized that while a serpent may be less flighty and smarter and more loyal and durable, a serpent was also quite crafty and narcissistic. The serpent was also not that fond of humans.

 

Which, the trees decided was rather fair. 

 

But the boy was different. 

 

“Fine.” The serpent hisses after a lengthy talk that may or may not have involved begging and bribery and what the trees thought was an unnecessary amount of praise needed to coerce the animal. “I sssupose I can check on this human for you all. But only becausse you asssssked.” 

 

The oak nearest the old apple tree rustled something deeply uncomplimentary about the serpent’s parentage. The language barrier between plant and animal must have lost something in the communication because the serpent visibly preened. “Now you’re jusst being sssilly.” The serpent demurred though it fooled no tree.

 

As it slithered proudly away, the pear tree wondered if it had been too hasty.

 

* * *

 

The pear tree had not been too hasty. The pear tree was a genius. 

 

“Thank you, thank you!” the boy, Harry, thanks with a wide toothy smile and a warm full bodied hug. The serpent slides in behind him looking amused, or as amused as a snake could be. “I knew you knew what I was saying. You are the best friend I’ve ever had!”

 

Feeling rather embarrassed, the pear tree tries to tell him how the other trees of the park forest had helped it look, and how the old apple tree had suggested the serpent. Luckily the serpent could translate the words, causing the boy to turn around and yell his tanks to everyone there. The other trees shook with their fond laughter.

 

Sensing the forest’s happiness Harry’s seemed to brighten up to the point the pear tree wonders if he’s getting nutrients from the sheer brightness of that expression.  

 

Afterwards, the serpent asks the boy to leave him there so the boy could finish up his chores. Reluctant to leave his newest non-tree friend, it took a few minutes of promises that the serpent would find it’s way back to the house when he was ready before the child waved everyone goodbye for now. The serpent hisses out a farewell before turning to the forest.

 

“The boy iss hurt!” He exclaims to the trees angrily, “His nessst is too small for him, hissss food is worsse, it iss like winter all the time for him!”

 

The trees rustle confused and angry and shocked. Winter is a time of starvation and sleep and weakness. To be forced into a life of forever winter is a cruel fate indeed, especially for the child. 

 

They ask what of the others that live with the boy, surely with their size it is not winter for them. The serpent hisses even more furiously. “They are in constant sspring.” He tells them, “For the fat ones they gain plentiful prey sssserved by the boy yet they have no kinship for they refusse to ssshare ssave for the ssssmallesst bits. Their nestsss are far larger and filled with sssoft feather leavesss that they make the boy preen insstead of themselvessss.”

 

All of them stews in their righteous fury for a moment. The boy is being treated worse than an earthworm who at least benefits from its task with food and safety in their roots. He is not a worm, nor a weed, but _mulch_ in the eyes of his supposed kin. Mulch is merely there to provide nutrients, a sacrifice made from withering slowly into nothingness. Harry is not mulch. 

 

_‘What can we do?’_ the pear tree wonders, _‘we must not let the boy become mulch.’_

 

_‘Certainly not.’_ a nearby pine tree rustles indignantly, pines were always quite a prickly sort, _‘But we are trees and can only watch over the boy while giving shade and fruits if we could bear them.’_

 

“There issss another way.” The serpent pipes up slyly, the trees, while suspicious still of the sneaky snake listen, “He sspeaks my language like he was born to do it.”

 

_‘So the boy is magical.’_ The old apple tree rustles thoughtfully, _‘We can protect him then.’_

 

The trees of the forest all bristles and sway excitedly. They ask how, eager and wanting but the answer is not as satisfying as they had hoped. _‘First, the boy must hear us before we can start.’_ The old apple tree says solemnly to all their dismay, _‘If not it would be all for naught.’_

 

So they wait and they watch and they speak. The boy plays with their branches, he laughs and he sings nonsense songs. He lets the snake curl up on his neck, on his lap, as they bask in the summer sun or the spring rain or the autumn wind while the serpent tells him what the trees are saying and the boy tries to understand as he strains his ears to hear. When winter comes the boy keeps the snake warm under his clothes when they go out and he just sits quietly in the cold, where the trees slumber and he listens.

 

Then one day, he does.

 

 

* * *

 

_’Take my brightest leaf freshly reddened from the autumn fall.’_ The maple trees say one day. Winter was coming and they had tried hard to keep one leaf still hanging onto their branches, a stark red from the browns and yellows and orange. _‘We gift you perseverance and persistence of hard work in the face of harder times.’_

 

Harry climbs up the maple trees and gently plucks the leaf from each of them. He thanks them softly and the maples begin their sleep.

 

_’Take our freshest pine needles,’_ The pine trees order the boy loftily one Spring morning, _’Ten that have bathed in the sun and ten hidden in the shade, for we wish to give you the courage to reach out for what you need but the cunning to hide when it calls for it.’_

 

Harry nods and does so obediently, taking the spiky criticisms and comments the pines give as encouragement and advice easily. Since there were many pine trees, Harry had ended up with quite a handful of pine needles when he brought them to his cupboard. In a special secret box, he placed them gently around two maple leaves, still as fiery red as before.

 

‘ _Take the brightest acorns that fall, but do not let them touch the ground.’_ The oaks tell him during a warm summer day, _‘We gift you with budding wisdom and youthful curiosity as well as quick reflexes.’_

 

Harry smiles and drops down to the lowest sturdiest branch, a nearby squirrel squeaks indignantly at the sudden thump of the human but settles once the oak reassures it and promises the creature it could have all the acorns the boy misses. It becomes a fun afternoon, jumping and laughing as Harry tries to catch the shiniest acorns as they fall from the oaks whilst all manner of creatures try to steal them away. He manages to gather a nice pile that satisfies the oaks, and they too go into his secret box, alongside the still green pine and the red maple leaves.

 

_’Take the juiciest apple, found at the very top of my branches.’_ The old apple tree whispers kindly, _‘I have made it in mind just for you. Eat it and keep the core with your other treasures, and know that this apple is the forest’s feelings.’_

 

With great trepidation, for the old apple tree’s branches were quite high, Harry climbs to the very top and spots the biggest, juiciest apple he had ever laid his eyes on. Sitting on the sturdiest yet tallest branch, he takes a bite of the fruit.

 

It’s sweet. It’s sweet enough to bring tears to his eyes.

 

The core is placed with the still shiny acorns, the still fresh pines and the still red maple leaves.

 

_‘Take a branch from my body,’_ the pear tree, murmurs quietly as the boy slowly rouses from his winter nap against the pear tree’s roots. _’Take it and remember that the strongest of friendships can be found in the strangest of places.’_

 

Harry touches his closest friend’s trunk questioningly, but the pear tree just exudes reassurance and pride for the boy even when he should be slumbering like the other trees were. So Harry just smiled and began to climb up the pear tree, slippery from winter’s frost. It took a while, Harry want to make sure he would only break off the pear tree’s branch off once and he wanted it to be worth it. 

 

He slipped a few times but assured his friend that he was fine even when the boy had to bite down tears whenever he accidentally scratched himself against the pear tree’s bare winter bark. 

 

When he had finally found what he had been looking for, a long slender thing with a bit of a twist to it, Harry couldn’t help but whoop and excitedly told the sleepy pear tree that he had finally found the perfect branch. Snapping it off quickly the boy realized, to his joy, that it fits into his hand snugly. 

 

* * *

 

It’s been three years since Harry has befriended the pear tree. It’s been around two years since the forest had given him Adam, his snake friend. Adam was a common viper, an Adder, one of the only venomous native snakes in the UK who enjoyed praises and the biblical irony of his name. And now roughly one year since the maple trees had given him their reddest leaves.

 

Now Harry is eight years old and trying not to start a forest fire.

 

_‘It’s okay.’_ The pear tree soothes. The other trees watching are a little less sure than the pear tree. They wished old apple tree was grown a bit closer to them, but unfortunately the old apple tree was just far enough to be hidden from sight and therefore they had to rely on instructions and vague descriptions and guesses. _‘Just imagine it burning.’_

 

The boy pouts as he stares mournfully at his treasures he had gathered over the year- the juicy apple core, the shiny acorns, the fresh pine and the red maple leaves- which had been carefully placed in a small well of piled up stones that Harry and Adam built. “But, I-I can’t.” He whispers heartbrokenly. These were his first gifts, ever. He could not bear destroying them.

 

The pear tree sympathizes but remains as firm as it stands strong, _’This is just one step to our true present for you.’_ The pear tree tells Harry, _‘Please Harry, soon you will understand._ ’

 

Harry bites his lip and nods, it helps that all the other trees are exuding the same comforting support toward him, so he stares down into the well of rocks and concentrates and believes and wishes. There’s a flicker of light, the spark of a flame and quickly it catches onto the pine needles. Soon the thing has been set alight in flame and Harry has to sit down, suddenly quite tired.

 

While the boy sits in wonderment at what he had just done, the trees chant in his place. The chant is of old words, words from the heart of nature and nature itself and soon the fire turns a marvelous shade of deep forest green. “Woah!” Harry gasps at the color change, “That’s wicked!” 

 

Slowly the fire fades and in its place was the ashes of the remains. Harry felt a pang of loss looking at it but the excitement of the unknown was soon overweighing his sorrow. 

 

_‘Take my branch and your blade.’_ The pear tree murmurs firmly but Harry can hear the waver of unsureness in the tree. As if to compensate, the boy whips out both items from his ragged satchel with a flourish that seem to subside the pear tree’s unease somewhat. _‘Now carve out the heart of the wood- but don’t pierce it all the way through.’_ Carefully, and feeling very witch-y as he did, Harry followed the instructions. Soon there was a small hole where he thought the heart of the branch should be. 

 

_‘The ashes of our gifts should serve as the core, the heart. Pour it in, as much as you could fit in for we do not want a hollow heart.’_

 

Harry nods seriously, he knows what it was like to feel hollow, sad and aching and confused, but he has filled it with his tree friends and Adam now, just like how he would fill the broken off branch. With deep concentration he cups a handful of ashes, still warm in the evening breeze and carefully pours it into the hole, imagining it like pouring love and hope and wishes. 

 

It takes a while, and Harry is sweating furiously by the end of it, but soon there’s not a single trace of the ashes that remain. Harry didn’t waste a single a speck. The boy is vaguely surprised how much he had managed to fit so much of the dust into such a tiny hole but the trees seemed enormously pleased and therefore so was he. 

 

_‘Now…’_ the pear tree hesitated but the moon was beginning to rise and they could not afford to waste time now. _’Seven drops of your blood before the moon finishes its ascension.’_

 

Unlike the pear tree, Harry does not hesitate, the kitchen knife he swiped was sharp enough not to hurt him too much when he sliced a bit of the flesh of his forearm. He knew from experience. Plus, the boy trusted his friends, trusted them with his life even. 

 

One drop, two drops, three drops. 

 

The child watches fascinated as the ashes seemed to absorb his blood, glowing faintly.

 

Four drops.

 

The carved edges of the wood were beginning to grow as if healing from the cut.

 

Five drops. Six drops.

 

The wood from the pear tree was almost completely reverted to its original state. It’s amazing. Harry could feel the intrigue of the forest rolling off him in agreement. 

 

Seven drops.

 

Seven drops of his blood just as the moon finished rising and the branch looked like as it had before. Not even a hint of anything different. It was both fascinating as it was anti-climatic.  

 

“Is that it?” He asks the trees. 

 

The trees rustle uncomfortably.

 

_‘Try shaking it.’_ An oak tree suggests. So tentatively he does.

 

The moment his hand grips the stick of wood Harry gasps at the feeling of love and comfort and rightness that rushes through him like the wind when he climbs up the tallest trees. With a flick of his wrist deep forest green sparks burst out of the branch before turning gold, red and orange as they fall down onto the ground like autumn leaves. Adam flickers his tongue at one of the orange sparks and makes a noise of surprise at whatever he had tasted.

 

“Wha- what is that?” Harry asks, baffled and excited and a little scared.

 

_‘That,’_ the pear tree says soft and smug, _‘Is magic from your new wand. Congratulations Harry. You’re a wizard.’_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ko-fi anyone? https://ko-fi.com/hweianime


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